


Where the Ocean Stops and the Sky Starts

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mute Tyler, ill add more tags once the story progresses but, josh has his natural hair, selective mutism, zack loves his brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Am I happy?” Josh repeated carefully, slowly, letting the words drip from his tongue—and Tyler confirmed with a nod and a smile that was somehow so loud.“I mean, I don’t know. I’m—“ and Josh was silent, his brain grappling blindy for words that made sense, before he huffed out a quiet, “I’m not unhappy.”A brief quiet ensued, one filled with the swinging of legs over the ledge and the low hum of old air conditioners. Moments later, Tyler would sign something that Josh wouldn’t be able to get out from behind his eyes for months.I amJosh should have told Tyler he cared for him. Instead, he said “I know,” and God, how he hated himself for it.orTyler was the boy with the bruised hands who refused to speak a word; and Josh? Josh was the average kid with average friends living an average life.





	1. St. Jude

The boy with the bruised hands found himself wringing his slim fingers at the foot of the classroom again. He didn’t know the reasoning behind his volunteerism—believe him—yet there he was, red in the cheeks with his heart hammering behind his rib-cage as he stood before so many sets of watchful eyes. Of course, he had played scenarios like these over and over in his head, but they were usually different from what had actually been playing out every Friday for the last three months (and a little less embarrassing if you were to ask Tyler). 

He had planned on talking, truthfully. He’d told Zack that today was the day (although he signed those exact same words every Friday) and he could feel deep within himself, a rumbling urge to just say _something_. God, Tyler could see it; the vision was so close in that moment that it almost felt familiar.

Tyler was brought back to the real situation when a shout of “Speak up or sit down, C.S.” rang through the room, stinging his ears like sharp wire, and he winced at the undertone of amusement that cut through his ears as well. “We will have none of that,” Ms. Leanne retorted valiantly.

_This_ was his life—a whole lot of unreasonable expectations and ear sensitivity—but surprisingly enough, he did **not** hate his life. 

His mouth remained open, but no words seemed to flow out as he stood frozen; and people took notice. He heard the first exasperated sigh slice through the air, then the next and god, he was taking too long—he’d wasted his chance.

“Mr. Joseph, that’s enough for today,” Ms. Leanne’s words, although Tyler was sure she mean’t well, caused nearly silent snickers to fill the empty space, “Don’t pressure yourself,” she added and her next words seemed all too familiar to him.

_Maybe next time_

Tyler simply closed his mouth and nodded, bringing a hand up to press against his burning cheek, feeling the blood red tinge that he knew everyone saw before trudging across the room and slumping down into his seat. He pressed his chilled fingertips into the deep tinted bruises on his palms. They were still sore and red, with hints of blues and purples scattered throughout and it made Tyler feel funny all over.

The rest of Public Speaking was spent learning about being respectful to your peers when they’re presenting.

Ironic, isn’t it? The mute kid takes Public Speaking. Something a little less ironic—he’s failing miserably.

When Tyler tread out of the doorway, he bumped into Zack, who had a bag slung loosely over his shoulder with a hopeful grin on his face. Tyler felt so defeated disappointing his brother.

“So,” Zack pried, throwing a thin, lanky arm across Tyler’s shoulders, walking alongside him down the hall, “How’d it go today?”

Zack knew the answer, but he wouldn’t tell Tyler that.

Tyler scrunched his nose, shaking his head with a despairing sigh. Zack gave him a hard pat, clicking his tongue and Tyler wrestled himself from his brothers tight grip. _It was ok_ , he signed (which, it totally _wasn’t_ ok), a smug smile washing over his face which only made Zack grin again as he tugged Tyler down the hall by the sleeve of his shirt. He submitted to being led to his Algebra class, he couldn’t handle being caught by the bell again.

*****Something Important About Tyler That Should Be Made Known*****

  


_He was a mathematical genius_

If you were to ask him, he would deny it; but don’t be fooled so easily—Tyler knew he was intelligent and he usually took pride in being the first person finished every day.

As his pencil hit the desk with a sharp thump and he slumped back into his desk, Zack shot him the same grin that he’d shown in the hallway, quietly whispering, “You are so unbelievable,” before shoving his head back down towards his paper. Oh yeah, Tyler was bubbling to the top with pride. That is, until he felt a quick jab against his shoulder. He couldn’t just act like he hadn’t felt that, could he? He wasn’t _that_ kind of person. There it was again, the barely there, lightening fast jab. 

Upon turning around, he was met with dark-cinnamon swirl hair with a set of eyes to match. There was an uncomfortable silence, one that was quiet yet so deafening at the same time, until the boy’s voice came out in a hushed whisper.

“Hey—uh, Tyler—I was just kind of confused…on number fourteen, I think it is—and you’re just a-a really smart guy so uh, yeah,” and the boy’s voice, even so quiet, reminded Tyler of carpet.

And Tyler—Tyler was confused. People didn’t talk to him, it was practically a spoken rule that no one talked to the mute kid because “Tyler doesn’t talk.” Then, Tyler registered the panic in his stomach; The kid had no clue he was mute. Of course, he tried not to show his uneasiness, and he turned his attention to Zack, giving him a quick tap to the shoulder. When Zack rose his head, Tyler was immediately fumbling with his hands.

“Whoa, Tyler, slow down buddy. I can’t understand you if you don’t slow down a second,” Zack whispered, sensing his brothers distress. 

With slightly labored breathing and an obviously pink face, Tyler slowly signed his words out to Zack.

_He doesn’t_  
_know_  
_I don’t talk_

Zack’s face lit up with surprise, and when Tyler glanced back at the boy behind him, he caught the look of disgust on his face and quickly turned his gaze otherwise. He usually always caught that dreaded look.

“Oh, I’m so-so sorry,” The boy started, and Tyler’s head shot up at that, “I had no clue he was deaf.”

And then the realization hit Tyler _hard_ , and he was suddenly aware of how empty his feet felt inside his shoes; The boy wasn’t disgusted by Tyler, he was disgusted by himself.

He barely registered Zack muttering a, “Tyler’s not—wait, no no, he can hear you,” before the initial realization spread to his shoulders and down his arms, but also wormed its way back up and into his cheeks. He was pressing his fingers lightly into his own discolored, meaty palms again, relishing in the way a dull ache followed. When he had enough courage to lift up the weight of his own head, the boy was grinning at him, a large one where his teeth were visible from beneath his lips. Tyler wondered how he did it; how he smiled like that after learning such a thing—surely, it was like smiling after receiving a harsh slap to the face, right? But either way, the boy took the smack, and he smiled the whole time.

*****

“So like—What’s the whole deal with Tyler Joseph?” Josh demanded from his friends upon entering the locker-room, shrugging off his sweat-soaked shirt and rubbing at his slick, reddened face. After the silence he’d been met with in third period that day, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering about the kid with the bruised hands who held his tongue. 

“Wait, Tyler, Like C.S.?” Eli asked, loosening his shoelaces from his place on the bench with a deep grimace of the name present on his face.

“Uh, Yeah, I guess that’s him.”

Ryan swiped his hands down his shirt, smoothing out the deep wrinkles that had formed before emitting a guttural noise. “God, that kid is such a dickhead. I have Public Speaking with him, he’s annoys the shit out of everyone. He’s the reason I can’t stand Friday’s, y’know?” Ryan often coughed his words up with venom.

“But he doesn’t even talk. I mean—dude can’t be that much of a pain in the ass,” Josh started but Ryan immediately stopped him with a loud snort.

“Josh—dude—you’d be surprised. Kathy is only always ever a pure angel to him, and you know what he does in return? He get’s up every Friday, _in Public Speaking mind you_ , and doesn’t speak a single word! It’s pretty freaking embarrassing; especially for Kathy. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him to suck it up, so she resorts to sweet ‘Oh Mr. Joseph, just take a seat, you can try again soon.’

“And C.S. doesn’t even thank her!—He barely acknowledges her at all; just gets all blushy and sits back down. God, the second hand embarrassment in that class is unreal sometimes.”

At that, it was Josh’s turn to spit out a laugh (although, he didn’t actually mean to let it slip), and he gave all of his weight to one leg as he brought his foot up to knot up his laces. With a strained voice, he spoke with mockery, “Sounds like he has a little crush on Mrs. Leanne.”

Chuckles arose between the three boys; Actually, they seeped into the open air, like a thick mist that made Josh feel uneasy (meaning they probably weren’t supposed to be laughing at Tyler). Once the misty laughter cleared and Josh’s gym shoes were nestled in his bag next to his sweaty, creased clothes, Eli shoved his own gym shorts into his bag before nearly whispering an almost guilty, “I don’t think C.S. is that dumb.”

“What was that, Elijah?” Ryan questioned.

“C.S. is like—actually pretty smart in math,” he stated matter-of-factly, shifting his gaze between Ryan, who was working on his laces, and Josh, who was leaning against the lockers with his bag slung over his shoulder. “We had Algebra II together like, last year. He wanted to be in Geometry, but the school wouldn’t—like—allow it, I guess; so they put him in regular Honors Algebra II. He only missed maybe three problems the whole year, it was like, insane.”

Josh had sat on the chilled concrete bench, digging his elbows into his knees, and a sigh bubbled from between his lips before he could stop it. 

“Does anyone know why he doesn’t talk? Like—why he’s even mute? His brother said he’s been like that since he was, I don’t know, six or seven,” Josh raised, feeling the cut of the locker in his back as he stretched his legs out with a low crack at his knee.

“I had some kind of church piano practice with him when we were like, ten. His parents smacked the shit out of his hands when he messed up,” Eli continued rambling about church and piano and Tyler’s foster parents; but Josh, in that moment, was suddenly aware of why Tyler’s knuckles and palms were red and violet, and something ridiculed in his throat. How could someone be so cruel?

“Josh, man, the bell—come on,” Ryan called from half-way across the locker-room, and Josh (who was obviously too deep in his own head to realize he’d missed the bell) made quick work to grab his bag and race to stick his foot in way of the closing door. 

And as they all walked in a huddle down the gym floor, Josh had a question that was caught inside his chest, one that stuck inside of him and ate away piece by piece until he finally spat it up.

“Wait-wait, that name—C.S.—those aren’t even his initials,” he stuttered, but Ryan just laughed the same chuckle that he had in the locker-room. 

“They aren’t initials, it’s a nickname.” His next words, although they didn’t sound menacing or hateful, were still drenched with so much venom that Josh could wring it out and mop it off it the floor. His words, although they were only two simple words, made Josh’s stomach swirl with colorful guilt and he hated the way it made him feel. They made Josh feel filthy.

*****If You Were Curious On What Those Two Words Were*****

  


_Cold Shoulder_


	2. Long & Lost

In truth, Tyler was afraid. It was a simple concept—the feeling of fear itself; a sense of everything being quiet and clean yet filthy and deafening all at once. Most of the time, Tyler took pride in refusing to admit to himself that he was scared—sometimes he didn’t even register his fear; but as he was sitting on his bed, legs folded underneath himself with “The Light Between Oceans” opened to the very last page, he felt utterly terrified. He despised the feeling almost as much as he despised admitting it to himself.

What he hated even more, though, was that he didn’t know why everything was clean and dirty and so loud but so quiet that he could barely make out any noise. He’d read the book three times—experienced the fear all three times, of course—and even on the fourth go, even as his eyes traced the last words over and over, he felt so scared.

And as he switched his bedside lamp off and tossed under his plaid covers, he could almost taste those last words on his tongue. He wanted so badly to speak them, even if only to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to let them seep out; so instead, he resorted to silently mouthing them to his wall as his eyes slipped shut.

*****What You Didn’t Know About That Night*****

  


_From the time Tyler’s eyes closed to the time he opened them, he’d slept only two hours_

Surprisingly, when his eyes _did open_ , he couldn’t remember why his chest felt almost unbearably tight. Then, he’d remembered the night before, almost as though it was a dream that his sleep ridden mind had formulated, and he dragged his hands over his eyes and lightly stretched the skin of his face. It was a Saturday—his dad’s day—and he declared to himself then and there that he hated Saturday’s (almost like he didn’t declare that every time the word Saturday climbed through his ears). 

His legs felt heavy, almost as heavy as his eyelids, in fact. Before he could even get a yawn out, Zack was tapping his knuckles against the door frame, hair smooth in contrast to Tyler’s—whose strands were unruly from tossing and turning. 

“Hey, uh, Mom’s leaving for work soon. She said she wants to see you before she leaves. You should probably get up—it’s like, 12:30,” Zack informed and Tyler was nodding lazily before he’d even finished his sentence.

He was confirming the second part, but never would he ever confirm the first. Of course, she was Zack’s mom, he would give her that much, and she raised Tyler well—but she would never be his mom, he refused to even allow the thought to burrow into his head. Before Zack left, he started rambling as usual, "Also, we have to make a stop at the library, I have to get some books for an English thing. Josh is gonna be there—y'know—the dude that sits behind you in Math," and Tyler knew (of course, he knew). He watched Zack's back as he turned to leave. He then set his own eyes against the ceiling, his sock’s lost in the sea of his comforter, before he made the choice to trudge from his room. His toes curled every time they fell flat against the frigid hardwood and the stairs had a slight creak as he descended them. The unsettling noise was masked by the jingle of keys and the near silence of his own feet as he ambled down the steps and in that moment, Tyler decided he would have rather heard the stairs creak.

Tyler’s mom—he refused to call her that—was slipping on her shoes when he made his first appearance of the morning, and she gave him a kind smile from her place on the floor. Tyler couldn’t bring himself to return the gesture. He was a horrible son, and he knew that. He would never admit it to himself, but deep down, he hoped that she thought otherwise of him. He slithered in to the barstool beside Zack’s.

“Ok, well, I’ve gotta go. I’m going to the store tomorrow—I know there’s not a lot, so I left you some money for breakfast,” she explained while shrugging her coat on. Before Zack could even act on his excitement, she added, “I expect change, Zack.”

Zack sighed, but agreed; and Tyler, as always, was quiet. 

“You ok, Tyler?” His mom asked (she asked every day that she saw him) and as always, he nodded, straight-faced. 

Their mom held her keys firmly in her hand, exchanging goodbyes with Zack before sliding out of the door; and Tyler, as always, was quiet apart from his barely visible wave. Tyler was a horrible son.

****  
In the car, with the windows rolled down, Tyler and Zack talked—well, although the conversation may have seemed one sided, they talked nonetheless. It started with a tap from Tyler, and Zack had been in the middle of taking a chunk from his biscuit. 

_Why do you roll the windows down even in the winter? It’s freezing_ , Tyler signed, ripping off a piece of his pancakes before dunking it into the open syrup and popping it onto his tongue.

*****Something To Know About Zack*****

  


_He often talked with his mouth full_

“Well, Tyler,” he punctuated the name with monotony, “With the windows up, it’s too hot.” As expected, his mouth was full with his breakfast the entire time.

_Then turn the heat down_ , Tyler emphasized his words by trying to turn the knob, but Zack was quick to smack his hand away. There it was, the table turner. Something had to always go wrong—whether it was Zack misinterpreting Tyler’s hands, or Tyler accidentally spilling something in Zack’s car—the possibilities were nearly an endless road. This time, it was on Zack.

He’d only meant the smack as playful gesture. He’d even snickered afterwards to further prove his intentions, but Tyler had already flinched back, his hand’s balled into white knuckled fists as he avoided Zack’s eyes. He was breathing heavily, heavily yet soundlessly and the only thing giving him away was his chest. The car had already gone back to being mostly silent, and Zack did try to break it—really.

“Come on, Ty. I’m sorry—I, I really am. It was stupid of me, I should have known better it was—“ but before he could get his last words out, Tyler was signing again. Zack, of course, missed it the first time.

“What?” he asked.

_Let’s just go_ , he repeated. He was still the voiceless human that he had been before, no words left his chapped lips, yet Zack still felt the pain behind his tone—and God, in that moment he’d wished he couldn’t feel. The hunger that had been present in the car minutes before had vanished; neither of them were hungry, neither of them spoke a word.

****

The drive to the library was an awkward one, filled with silence and an unbroken rope of tension. Once the car had officially pulled to a stop outside of the doors, both boy’s were uneasy. 

“Uh, Josh isn’t here yet—I don’t think—so you can just go on in. We’ll find you, I guess,” Zack rushed in a quiet tone, and Tyler affirmed with a nod before slipping out of the door. 

Tyler realized two things as he left his brother in the running car. The first thing he realized, when the air rushed past his face, was just how cold it was. The winter air nipped at his cheeks, turning them a burnt out shade of crimson. The second thing he realized, as he strode towards the doors of the library, was how much of a horrible brother he was. Zack hadn’t really meant it. Tyler was a horrible brother, and he knew that.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How something can seem so small, but upon examination grow so large. Tyler, who only read one book, had no clue that there were so much beauty in books (he also didn’t know that there were so many of them). He had been to the library before—but that was before he was scared of words. He found himself pacing up and down the isles, running his fingers over the neatly stacked spines, before his eager eyes fell on four terrifying words—only four—and his pulse jumped.

_The Light Between Oceans_ , Tyler mouthed, rubbing his thumb over the title before sliding the book out of it’s snug, rightful place on the shelf wedged between the others.

A fifth time wouldn’t hurt, he decided.

He’d sunken back into a bean bag chair on the floor, carefully removing the cover (with a bit too much care) before flipping to the title page. Unlike the end, the title page gave Tyler a sense of hope—which was something he found himself begging for—but just as he skimmed past the introduction, his ears were filled with a quiet ruffling. He knew what was happening, of course he did, but he wasn’t going to shift his gaze from the page. 

“Hey Tyler,” Zack beamed, and Tyler shifted his gaze from the page automatically, but only for a second before looking back down. He was focused on the book.

“What’re you reading,” Josh questioned, and Tyler wasn’t focused on the book anymore. That voice, although louder now than in class the week before, still sounded like carpet. He shrugged—he didn’t know why he did that, of course he knew what book he was reading—before reaching to the shelf behind him and blindly searching for the cover. When it was paper thin between his fingertips, he handed it to Zack rather than Josh—he didn’t know why he did that, Josh was the one asking. 

Josh leaned on his side in his bean bag burrow, peeking at the cover. “The Light Between Oceans,” Zack recited, as if Josh was too far away to see, before giving Tyler a straight-faced look, “Really, Tyler? Again? This makes like—the seventh time.”

_Fifth_ , Tyler corrected, snatching the cover back from him in one swift swipe before leaning back against his bean bag. He caught Zack rolling his eyes, caught Josh’s small snort, and he made a face of mock hurt. Zack only giggled, pushing himself from the floor with a grunt. 

“You want it? Dad’s coming to pick you up. I gotta stay to work on the project—I can’t just leave Josh with the whole thing,” Zack explained, and Tyler wedged the book into Zack’s hand. And as Tyler settled back and witnessed Zack stride off towards the front desk, his eyes fell to Josh, who was still tunneled back into his chair.

Wait—no, no—why was Josh not going with Zack? Why was he still there? Did Josh expect Tyler to make conversation? Was he that cruel of a person? Tyler didn’t make conversation, it just didn’t happen. There it was again, the ache of his own fingers digging into his week-old bruises. Maybe if he sat still long enough, Josh would make a move to leave. Maybe he would—

“So, uh—The Light Between Oceans, yeah?” Josh asked, and Tyler’s skin suddenly felt too tight around his body. Cautiously, he nodded, and the space around him filled with almost-silence. That was the worst part; the silence wasn’t complete. There was still a deep background hum that diluted the silence, and Tyler hated it. 

“You’ve actually read it four times—like, seriously?” His tone—a soft one—cut through the almost-silence, pooling in Tyler’s ears. Again, he nodded, but with this one came a smile with a hint of pride.

“Wow that’s,” Josh paused, sucking in a breath between his teeth before he hissed it out again, “that’s pretty impressive. I only got through like—half of it.” Tyler laughed, high and quiet. Was he supposed to laugh?

Silence flooded the space between them, although this time, it was comfortable. They were both practically drowning in their oversized chairs. Tyler’s eyes darted from Josh’s feet, then where his hands were tying his knees together, then to the carpeted ground all around him. It was was indeed a comfortable silence, Tyler decided; comfortable, but graceless.

“I mean, doesn’t it get—I don’t know—old, I guess? Reading the same book over and over?” Josh’s voice had broken that seemingly endless silence, and Tyler shrugged. He dug through his back pocket, feeling for the pen Zack had given him (their dad wasn’t very keen on sign language) before wiggling it from its place. 

With the cap wedged between his teeth, he took his time to scribble words out onto his own palm. Of course, the ink had gone dry several times before he was done, and he had to scrawl little circles on the back of his hand as he awaited for it’s return; and when the black ink leaked onto his skin, he continued. He managed eight words, letting the cap fall from his teeth and into his ink-less hand, before flipping his palm around. Josh’s eyes skimmed over the words, and he laughed, a syrupy and sweet sound.

_Find me a better one, then I’ll stop_ , his hand spoke. 

Tyler’s own laugh was a gust of breath puffed from his nose, and he smiled so hard that his cheeks ached. As he smudged the ink away with his thumb, he learnt how unbearably good it felt to ache from something so content.

****

Later, when all of the sun had finally dripped from the sky, Tyler sat silently in his room, running his fingers over his stinging, red knuckles. His room at his dad’s house was different; different blankets, different scenery, different layout, yet the feeling remained the same—petrified. 

From his place on the bed, he heard the front door close, then his dad’s voice, then footsteps that surfaced towards his room. The first tap to his door was seemingly noiseless, but then came the next which had a slight ring to it and Zack slid through the door. 

A book was placed in Tyler’s lap, and before he could even begin to wonder about its small gray-scale cover, Zack was already filling him in.

“Josh wanted me to give it to you. He said you’d probably like it,” Zack motioned to the book in his hands, pushing himself away from Tyler’s footboard. “I’m tired, probably gonna go to bed. Love you.” 

With his door closed, he examined the book like it was top secret, running his thumb down the spine before turning it over in his hands. It was paper-back, creased in places and almost completely split in others. He skimmed over the back carefully, then flipped through the first pages. He turned the first page, then the second, and found what he expected on the third.

**The Sound and the Fury**

  


**William Faulkner**

But below that was a note. Don’t get ahead of yourself; it wasn’t a formal note. It was written on a small piece of ripped-out notebook paper and was poorly taped in. It read:

“This has always been one of my favorites. Hopefully, it will be one of yours too. Good luck. -Josh Dun”

Tyler was annoyed. 

No, Tyler _tried_ to be annoyed—but his own grin (which seemed too large for his face) gave him away. He read the first two pages and decided the rest would have to wait until morning.

*****No, That Wasn’t What Happened That Night*****

  


_Tyler read The Sound and the Fury in two hours_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda decided to name each chapter after songs from How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful cause it's a nice album. :^)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote most of this chapter to st. jude by florence+ the machine


End file.
